Where's My Cut???
by Amy723
Summary: The Gap has stolen Angel's idea for the Table Cloth dress and is he pissed! He takes them on Michael Moore style.


In the play, "Rent", it's a year before the Gap mass produces the tablecloth dress __

In the play, "Rent", it's a year before the Gap mass produces the table cloth dress. I decided I didn't want to wait that long, so in the story, it's a matter of weeks before the Gap steals Angel's idea. I also don't know if the Gap headquarters is located in New York or not.

****

_WHERE'S MY CUT???_

Chapter 1: The Discovery

"Oh…my…gawd!" Angel puts his hand on his chest and clutches his heart. He cannot believe his good fortune.

Misinterpreting his reaction, Mimi runs to his side.

"Angel," she says, "are you all right?" She puts her hand on his shoulder to try and steady him as he reels back a little. Angel stops hyperventilating. He runs over to a pile of old clothes, and picks up a stained tablecloth.

"Honey, I have died and gone to heaven," he exclaims, "will you look at _this!_ "

He holds the tablecloth in front of him for his two companions to see. It was the standard Italian Restaurant style tablecloth with red and white check. It had a large orange stain in the middle.

"Eww," says Maureen, "it's all dirty."

"Well," snaps Angel, "I _am_ gonna wash it!" He snaps his fingers in her face. She flinches.

"Then what are you gonna do with it?" asks Mimi

"I…am going to make…a dress!" Angel proclaims. He looks as if he's on the verge of tears.

"A dress?" says Maureen. "Out of _that_?"

"I do believe I know a bit more about fashion than _some people_," he tells Maureen. She rolls her eyes.

But even Maureen has to admit that Angel knows quite a bit more about fashion than a lot of people. He holds a degree in fine arts from Cooper Union and he owns a boutique. It's called Angel Baby's and it caters to drag queens. It also has a small S&M section that's overseen by Mimi and Maureen.

He grabs Mimi by the hand and leads her down the alley. Maureen just stands there.

"Let's go to the laundrymat," he says to Mimi. "We've got work to do." He looks over his shoulder at Maureen.

"Coming Maureen?" he asks. She sprints to catch up with her friends.

Of all the Dumpster diving fashion visions he's ever had, none have been as powerful as this one.

At the Laundromat, Angel is still sitting on top of the washer after the lady has told him for the fifth time to get off. For the fifth time, he ignores her. Hell, if the homeless guy can sprawl across four chairs and take nap while his coat is drying, Angel figures he can certainly sit on the washer.

"…and this dress is going to be kee-oot!" he chatters happily as his friends listen. "And people are going to be like 'Angel honey, where _did _you get that adorable dress' and I'll be like 'I made it, I'm glad you like it.' They'll be asking where they can get one and I'll just have to tell them it's one of a kind. I shudder to think of all the drag queens in New York rockin' the red and white checks, okay? I mean they don't work for everyone…"

Mimi and Maureen dissolve into a fit of giggles as Angel goes on his little tirade.

"Exactly how long _does_ this wash cycle last?" he shouts at no one in particular. "I have been waiting _forever _here. Come on people, busy fashion designer at work here. Time is money…"

The rinse cycle stops and the spin cycle begins. The machine vibrates violently.

"Oooh," giggles Angel, "this tickles."

The washer stops and Angel takes the tablecloth out. He inspects it to make sure it's totally clean, then he puts in the dryer and drops two quarters in.

"I think it's ridiculous to waste a dollar washing one tablecloth," says Maureen. "If I'da known we'd be coming to the laundrymat today, I coulda brought some of my clothes."

"Bitch, puh-leeze," says Angel. "Wash your skanky thongs on your own time." 

The three of them watch as the tablecloth does back flips in the dryer. The dryer finishes and Angel takes it out of the dryer.

As they leave, they pass the lady in charge of the Laundromat.

"Faggot," she mumbles as Angel passes.

"Bitch," he mumbles in reply.

He stays up all night making patterns, tracing, cutting, pinning and sewing. By daybreak, he's got the battle scars to show for all of his hard work. 

Zipping his masterpiece into a garment bag, he carries it to his shop. Mimi and Maureen have already opened up. They're standing at the counter drinking coffee as Angel comes in.

"Hey," says Mimi, "we were going to send a search party for you in a minute."

"Girl, you have bags under your eyes," says Maureen. "Go buy yourself a cucumber."

"Forget the bags under my eyes," he says. "It…is…finished!"

Mimi and Maureen squeal with delight.

"Is that it in the bag?" Maureen asks.

"It is!" shrieks Angel.

"Well, let's see," Mimi say impatiently.

With a flourish, Angel goes into the dressing room. He sticks his arm out and grabs a wig off of a mannequin head.

After what seems like an eternity, Angel emerges from the dressing room. Mimi and Maureen gasp and then stare in awe.

"Oh, I don't have any shoes," says Angel. "Mimi, hand me those red pumps." Mimi does as she's told. Angel slips on the shoes.

He steps over to the full-length mirror and takes everything in. The dress is knee length and tight fitting. It is sleeveless and had a low cut back. Across the back, there are three straps accented with red bows. It has a slit up the back of the skirt. 

Partnered with Angel's requisite black bob wig and a pair of sassy red pumps, she is truly a vision to behold.

"You look HOT!" Maureen blurts out.

"I do don't I?" Angel gushes. He can't believe the gorgeous creature staring back at him is really him.

Angel decides the dress is too special to wear, so he puts it on "Sheila" his store mannequin. 

"Sheila, you are da bomb, honey," Angel tells his wooden friend. 

People come in and out constantly for the next few days asking about the dress. Just as Angel predicted, queens of all shapes and sizes want to know where they can get their very own tablecloth dress.

"Sorry ladies," says Angel. "I regret to inform you that the esteemed Tablecloth Dress is a one of a kind Angel Dumott Schunard Original."

"Puh-leeze girlfriend," says a snooty queen named Natasha. "It'll be a matter of weeks before your idea is snatched up by a clothing store chain and mass- produced."

Angel never liked Natasha. They used to work together as drag performers at Miz Sherese's House O' Drag. Natasha was Nathan out of drag. He thought he was all that because he didn't need to wear a wig when he went drag. He was proud of his long blonde locks.

"Be gone, disbeliever," Angel says, dismissing the bee-otch with a wave of his hand.

Natasha walks toward the door and stops behind "Sheila". He wrinkles his nose as he looks at the dress one last time.

"Hmm," she snorts. "I would never be caught dead in something so ugly." Then he leaves the store.

The window attraction has actually been good for business. Dejected queens who were denied the infamous dress eventually found other things they liked during their pilgrimages.

Then comes the fateful day when Joanne, Maureen's lover, comes into the store. Angel knows something's up when he sees her. She doesn't come in every day.

"This is a lovely dress Angel," Joanne says. 

"Thank you," Angel says warily.

"You know, just the other day I was passing by the Gap near the law firm and I saw a dress in the window just like this one," she tells him.

Angel just about has a heart attack.

"EXCUSE ME?" he shrieks. "Y-you s-saw a d-dress l-like this one….AT THE GAP???"

He takes one deep breath and clutches his chest.

"Somebody hold me back!" he says. But there's no one in the store besides him and Joanne.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," says Joanne.

"But what am I gonna do?" pleads Angel.

"Well, I suppose you could sue the Gap," she says. "But you'd have to have proof that you were the first to come up with the idea."

"Help me Joanne," Angel begs.

"Sure Angel," she replies.

"But first I have _got_ to see this with my own eyes," he says. "Now where do you work again?"

"In Midtown," she says. 

"MIDTOWN?" Angel shrieks. "You mean yuppie corporate whores are buying _my dress?_'" Angel looks like he's about to cry.

"I'm sure you'll have your day of justice, Sweetheart," says Joanne, handing him her business card. "Call me when you need me." And with that, she leaves the store.

Angel hangs the Out to Lunch sign on the door. It's the kind that has the cute little clock that says "Be Back At:" and you can move the hands around. Both arrows point to 12. It is now 9:00 a.m.

On his way to the subway, Angel sees a disturbing site. Never say never, as the saying goes. For here comes Natasha bearing the fruits of Angel's labor. Only this imitation tablecloth dress is blue and white, not red and white.

"See what you get for being stingy, bee-otch?" Natasha hisses. She stops in front of Angel and does a model-like pivot turn. 

Why, this rag even has the bows in the back and the slit in the skirt! How dare they?

Angel descends upon the Midtown Gap store with a vengeance. Dressed in jeans, Doc Martens and a bomber jacket, he makes a beeline for a rack containing several bastardized versions of his precious treasure.

He flips wildly through the knock-offs, disgusted to see that they go all the way up to size 15. Some of them are blue and white and some of them are green and white. He finds a perfect size 10 in red and white, almost an exact replica of his baby if not for the skanky Gap tag inside. 

Then he marches right up to a timid looking sales clerk wearing a name tag that says "Robin."

"C-can I help you?" Robin asks.

"Well, I don't know," says Angel. "See, I designed a dress identical to this one about a month ago. Why didn't anyone consult with me first before mass-producing it?

"Umm…" Robin stammers.

"Sorry, honey," Angel tells her. "Of course you don't know, you just work here. Is the manager around?"

"Just a sec, I'll go see," says Robin. Quickly she shuffles to the back of the store. Customers and employees alike are staring at Angel.

"What?" he shouts at all of them. Just then, Robin comes back with a young man in who looks to be in his early thirties.

"Are you the manager?" Angel asks.

"Yes," says the man, "can I help you?"

"Who do I go see to complain about this?" says Angel, holding up the dress.

"Is it defective?" the manager asks.

"No, it's stolen," says Angel.

"Stolen?" asks the manager, puzzled.

"The idea for this dress," Angel answers. "You people stole it from me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," says the manager. Angel throws the dress at the man. It falls to the floor and Robin nervously picks it up.

"Of course you don't, honey," Angel tells him. "you just work here." He turns on his heel and leaves the store.

That night at dinner, Angel tells Collins about his gruesome discovery.

"I wanna sue," says Angel bitterly.

"Well, you do what you think is right, babe," says Collins consolingly.

"I'm calling Joanne right now to tell her what happened today," Angel says getting up from the table.

"I got news for you," says Joanne over the phone. "The Gap, Inc. is having a shareholder's meeting on Tuesday at 1:00." 

"And?"

"And," Joanne continues, "you can try and see if you can get in?"

"Will they let me in?" asks Angel. 

"They might," Joanne answers.

After he gets off the phone, Angel goes to where Collins is sitting in the recliner and sits in his lap.

"So?" asks Collins.

"There's a stockholder's meeting the day after tomorrow," he tells Collins. "Joanne says I should go."

"Hey," says Collins, "not a bad idea."

"But Collins," says Angel. "I'm scared." He rests his head on Collins' shoulder as Collins comforts him.

The big day finally arrives. Dressed in a sleeveless shell and a pair of capris made entirely out of pillowcases, except for the zipper in the capris, Angel is as ready as he'll ever be.

He puts on his black bob wig, and a pair of lavender flats that match his outfit, he grabs his Luis Vuitton handbag and heads for Madison avenue.

He checks and rechecks the address Joanne gave him. Butterflies do back flips in his stomach.

Entering the lobby of the building, he's stopped by a security guard behind a big desk.

"Can I help you Miss?" asks the guard.

"Oh, no," says Angel, "I know where I'm going."

"And where might that be?" the guard asks, looking Angel up and down.

"To the stockholder's meeting," Angel answers matter of factly.

"Sign in please," the guard says, pushing a clipboard toward Angel. Angel signs his name on the clipboard. The guard takes the clipboard and looks at it.

"Take the elevators on the right," the guard tells Angel.

The express elevator takes him straight to the fifth floor where the meeting is being held. When he arrives at the auditorium, he sees that the meeting has already taken place. Quietly, he slips in and takes a seat in the back.

People are lining up at a microphone near the back of the room to address the board members seated on stage. There are about four people lined up right now. Nervous, Angel chews his thumbnail and contemplates getting in line. 

There are now only two people in line, but Angel is still too nervous get in line. Now there's only one. Angel figures he might as well get in line since he had come all this way.

It's his turn to take the mike. He steps up and taps on it. People are whispering.

"Your name please?" asks one of the gentlemen on stage. Angel clears his throat.

"Angel Dumott Schunard," he says in his best girl voice.

"And your question or comment?" asks the man.

"You have a dress in your stores right now," Angel rambles. "It's red and white but you also have blue and white and green and white. I designed a dress just like that about a month before it showed up in your stores. That idea is mine and you stole it.

Angel has never spoken so fast in his life.

"Oh," says a woman on stage, "are you referring to our Picnic Dress?"

Picnic Dress? What the hell kinda stupid name is that?

"Um, yes," says Angel. "but I call it the Table Cloth Dress." Chuckles fill the room.

"And how are we supposed to believe this?" asks the woman.

"I own a boutique on the Lower East Side and the original version has been in my window for six weeks," he says.

"Okay," says the woman, "we'll look into it and be in touch."

"You want my business card?" asks Angel, opening his purse.

"That won't be necessary," says the woman.

"But…" Angel begins. A large man pounds a gavel on the table.

"Meeting adjured," he says.

As Angel walks out of the auditorium, he hears some people talking about him.

"Who let that person in here?" says one voice.

"We need better security," says another.

That night Angel called Joanne and told her all about his day.

"They know something," he told her, "but they're not telling."

"So, what do you want to do?" asks Joanne.

"I wanna sue their asses," says Angel.

Two months later, the case is brought to small claims court. The so-called Picnic Dress is no longer available at the Gap stores but is now available on their website. Angel is awarded a 30% cut in all sales of the dress and the Gap has been ordered to change its name to the Table Cloth dress.

__


End file.
